


A Study in Handcuffs

by Latenightbookworm



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Consensual Kink, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Light Dom/sub, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, it's just porn y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:28:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28023975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Latenightbookworm/pseuds/Latenightbookworm
Summary: Takes place in s2e3, ignoring the whole fall shit. John and Sherlock go back to 221B after running through London handcuffed together. John gets turned on thinking about it and Sherlock, of course, notices ;)
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	A Study in Handcuffs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Princess0611](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess0611/gifts).



John steps into their flat behind Sherlock, saying goodnight to Mrs. Hudson as he closes the door. It’s been a long night, but John is still keyed up after watching Moriarty, the man who strapped a bomb to his chest, pretend like they were the dangerous ones in that apartment. Even thinking about it again raises his blood pressure, but as he sticks the keys in his pocket his hand brushes something that gets his heart racing for a different reason. 

_Running down the street, being pulled by his wrist by Sherlock, who’s barely paying him any attention. Being slammed into walls and gates, pushed and pulled around. Sherlock pulled him into a doorway and he’d nearly given away how turned on he was. He’d only distracted himself in the last second from sliding to his knees right there, by looking at the gossip rags stacked next to them. Luckily, or not, there had actually been something there and they were off again, headed to the reporter’s house._

John rubbed his wrist as he remembered the feeling of the handcuff, the exhilaration of that flight, and was still standing just inside the door staring into space when Sherlock came back from hanging his coat. Had he been more aware, John would have enjoyed the look on Sherlock’s face as he deduced what John was feeling.

“John,” Sherlock stated, bringing his attention back to reality. “What are you thinking about?’

John loved how all of Sherlock’s questions sounded like demands. “Nothing really, just. Long night.”

“Hm. No,” Sherlock said, squinting at him slightly. He stepped in close to John’s face, staring him down. “Your face is flushed, heart rate elevated, you’re biting your lip, you keep rubbing your wrist, but I know it’s not injured. You are aroused. What I want to know is why. What. Are. You. Thinking about?”

If John’s heart hadn’t been racing before, it certainly was now. Being stared at with such intensity, Sherlock listing his symptoms so clinically, was quickly erasing any thought from John’s brain. He swallowed, reaching slowly into his pocket and pulling out the handcuffs. They hang from his fingers as he stares back into Sherlock’s eyes, heart pounding now with anticipation and nerves. Sherlock’s eyes flick down to the handcuffs before returning to John’s with a small knowing smirk. John swears he stops breathing, can’t even blink. 

“Answer the question now, John. Don’t make me ask again.” Sherlock’s voice has dropped even lower, softly winding its way into his ears. John can’t control the slight shiver at his words.

“Was thinking about the way you pulled on my wrist in these, the way you kept pressing me against the walls,” John whispers.

“And? I know there’s more.”

“And… I almost sucked you off in that doorway. Almost wish I had, while these were still on.”

Sherlock hums, looking merely thoughtful. “I don’t see any reason they can’t be again.”

John’s breath catches. He almost drops the handcuffs, but Sherlock catches them in a quick, delicate hand. Sherlock steps forward, forcing John back until he hits the door. Still he steps closer, pressing against John. Sherlock’s hands come up to the door on either side of him and John catches a glimpse of silver to his left. Sherlock leans in, bringing his mouth to John’s ear and pressing their hips together. 

“Is that what you want, John,” Sherlock whispers low and rough, lips brushing his ear. John’s eyes flutter closed, the demanding tone of Sherlock’s voice making him weak in the knees. 

“Yes.” John barely recognizes his own voice, the admission torn from deep within. He is suddenly ripped away from the door and spun around, Sherlock pushing him urgently toward their bedroom. As soon as they’re inside the door, Sherlock pulls him in for a bruising kiss, grabbing his arms and pulling his wrists behind his back. John feels like his heart is about to burst out of his chest. It's pounding so hard. He can’t believe this is happening, that Sherlock is not only going along but seems just as into it. Sherlock pulls back after a long moment, still holding John in place. He switches both of John’s wrists into one hand and John hears the click of the handcuffs opening.

“You want to stop anytime, just say Anderson,” Sherlock says roughly. “Otherwise, I’m locking your hands behind you and you’re going to finish what you wanted to do in that doorway.”

John feels his eyes roll back at Sherlock’s forceful tone. He feels the cold metal of the handcuffs close around the first one, then the other wrist. With the last click of the handcuffs, Sherlock’s hands slide up his arms to his shoulders, pressing down firmly. John’s knees buckle like they’ve been wanting to all night and Sherlock’s hand comes to the back of his head, grasping at his hair. His other hand goes to the front of his pants, quickly unzipping them and pushing them and his boxers out of the way. John feels like he is floating away, the tight grip in his hair and the unforgiving circles around his wrists the only things holding him in place. His focus narrows down to those points of contact and the hard cock in front of his face, and it takes Sherlock tugging sharply on his hair to realize he’s been asked a question.

“I said. Are you ready,” Sherlock demands, and it’s at this point it hits John how long he’s really been ready for this, waiting for this. He knows Sherlock can read it all on his face, in his body language, so all he does is nod, breath panting out between his parted lips. He stares up at Sherlock’s face as he slowly but firmly slides his cock between John’s lips. John feels the restriction of the handcuffs even more acutely now. While normally he would balance himself against Sherlock’s thighs, he has none of that familiar stability now. He feels entirely at Sherlock’s mercy and the thought makes him groan as he feels himself harden even further, pressing against the front of his pants. His eyes shut on their own as he feels Sherlock push against the back of his throat. He tilts his head back, making the angle easier on them both. The floating feeling he felt in his head earlier is quickly spreading to the rest of his body, limbs feeling heavy and limp, throat relaxing even further and letting Sherlock push further until John’s nose is pressed to his groin. Distantly he hears a quiet groan and Sherlock stays there for a moment before pulling back. John instinctively holds his position, knowing what comes next. There’s a pause and Sherlock seems to lose control for a moment with a quiet, almost unnoticeable whimper.

“John…” Sherlock’s breath leaves him with a huff. “You look… you look so perfect.” His voice strengthens just a bit, becoming more demanding. “Look at me.”

John opens his eyes and looks up, eyes wide and trusting. The hand in his hair grips tighter and John moans at the sensation. Sherlock’s other hand gently brushes along the side of his face before joining its partner at the back of his head. With both hands gripped in John’s hair, Sherlock begins thrusting slowly, gradually picking up speed until he is fucking into John’s throat. John loses all sense of time, his eyes rolled back and head floating away as he kneels in front of this extraordinary man. Eventually John feels a slight change in the steady force that’s been kept up for, well, John isn’t sure how long. Sherlock’s thrusts become just slightly more forceful before he pulls back suddenly, pulling John’s head back sharply to look him in the eye. Sherlock’s eyes burn into John’s for a moment before he’s pulled to his feet and pushed backward onto the bed. While Sherlock strips off his shirt and pulls his pants fully off, John takes a moment to adjust his hands so they lay parallel underneath him. He can still feel the hard metal of the handcuffs pressing into his back, but the slight discomfort only serves to make him more aware of the moment. Sherlock kneels above him, straddling his still clothed legs. His hands slowly slide up John’s legs, teasing at his hip bones as John strains upward.

“Shhh,” Sherlock murmurs as he presses down on John’s hips, holding him in place. “So eager.”

He brings one hand to the top of John’s pants, opening his fly torturously slowly. John’s breath is coming out in quick, shallow pants, his entire being focused on Sherlock’s slender fingers. Finally, _finally_ , his pants are open and some of the pressure is relieved. Sherlock leans over him, his lips only a breath away from John’s, and slides his hand under John’s boxers. John can’t stop the shudder as Sherlock’s hand grips tight around his cock. John can feel his breath, so close to his own, and wants nothing more than to close that gap. Knowing he can’t, knowing he is so effectively pinned in place, turns him on more than perhaps anything else ever has before. Suddenly Sherlock is shoving his pants and boxers out of the way and lining his own cock up with John’s. The press of their cocks against each other is magnified by Sherlock’s slender fingers wrapping around the both of them. The friction of Sherlock’s cock against his, the press of both of their bodies against his handcuffed wrists below him and the squeeze of Sherlock’s fingers all send John hurtling toward a precipice. His fuzzy mind holds off as long as it can, but as soon as he feels Sherlock’s steady rhythm falter against him he loses any sense of control he might have kept. The moment seems to last forever, John’s mind whiting out from pleasure. He feels Sherlock go lax above him, falling to one forearm to keep from collapsing on top of him, and the last conscious thought he has is about how nice it is being pinned from above and below like this.

When he finally comes back to himself, Sherlock has removed the handcuffs and is sprawled out along his side, rubbing his wrists gently. John turns to him with a lazy smile, eyes full of love. Sherlock smiles back, eyes sharp and questioning.

“That was perfect, Sherlock,” John whispers. “Thank you, love.”

“Anytime,” Sherlock responds, and then smirks. “Perhaps we should get arrested more often.”


End file.
